


Gonna Have to Ask Me Nicely

by ninhursag



Category: Social Network (2010)
Genre: Bondage, Dom/sub, F/M, Femdom, Forced Orgasm, M/M, Power Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-10
Updated: 2011-08-10
Packaged: 2017-10-22 11:16:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/237466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninhursag/pseuds/ninhursag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This one is for jasmasson. Christy offers to give a tied up and helpless Eduardo to Mark, if he can win him from her. With sex, obviously.</p><p>Contains: Not exactly a threesome, but three people involved in a sexual situation, regardless. Bondage, d/s.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gonna Have to Ask Me Nicely

**Author's Note:**

> OH MAN, did this never, ever happen. As usual, this is more about my insane crush on AG's face than actual, real people.

Eduardo's face down on the bed, hands bound over his head, cuffed to the headboard. His cheek is pressed into the pillow. He's not alone, but the others are behind him, and there's a scrap of cloth that used to be his tie covering his eyes.

A woman's voice, that's Christy. Familiar, faint amusement. “You can touch him if you want. You look intrigued.”

Then there's a hand skimming over his shoulders and down the small of his back. It's a man's hand, too broad and rough to be Christy's. The nails are ragged and blunt, not manicured, as the hand strokes down his ass. One hand, two parting his cheeks. He makes a sound, low and rough, and squirms when the fingers dig into the sore, oversensitive skin around his hole. There's a plug still pressed inside him and he whimpers when movement shifts it.

Normally, that might be followed by a stinging slap, but today Christy laughs when he can't keep still. Her voice is bright, high. Excited. “If you can make him come one more time, you can have him,” she says. “Not just for today. For keeps.” Eduardo stiffens at that, another shiver going down his spine even though he hasn't been touched again. Just the words. “Don't worry,” Christy continues. “He likes it.”

There's a sigh, another octave, low. Familiar. He knows that voice. “Does he?” it says, but the question is obviously rhetorical. The hand is on him again, stroking over his hip, pulling him up just enough to slide under his body. The sheets stick to the skin around his thighs and cock. It should feel gross, all that tacky, drying semen soaking pubic hair, skin and sheets. It will feel gross but right now he's wrung dry and exhausted. He only wants to keep his eyes closed and rest.

The hand doesn't let him. It pats his hip again, gently, soothingly, but then glides over the sore, sensitive skin of his balls in a way that makes him whimper and gasp. “Wardo,” the voice says, asks, and shit, that makes him stiffen up from toes to spine, he knows that voice. “How many times have you come already today?”

He can't talk, not anymore too hoarse, too... but Christy can, cool and easy. Her hand is in his hair, the touch weirdly delicate, combing through loose, sweat-soaked strands. “I counted four. But he's sneaky, he could have managed a few while I wasn't paying attention. Wet as he is, one or two more could be overlooked.”

“I asked him, not you,” Mark replies, and yeah, that's his voice, just as cool. Like this isn't happening, like Eduardo naked and decimated, wrists bound to the headboard above him, is an everyday occurrence.

Christy laughs. Her hand curls around his cheek and one sharp nail digs into the corner of his mouth, a little prick of sensation that isn't quite pain. He makes a noise that isn't words. “Say hello to Mark, Eduardo,” she murmurs.

He swallows. His throat's so dry and his mouth aches when he coughs but he manages a hoarse, whispered, “Hello, Mark,” before coughing again.

“Good boy,” she says, and glides a fingertip over his cracked lips before pulling away. Her voice, when it comes again, is from further away. “Here's the deal, Zuckerberg. Let's say, I'm getting bored. Ready to move on, you know how it is. But... before I did, I'd want to make sure my boy went to a good home.”

“Oh?” Cool, careful, like it hardly matters. Mark. Eduardo squeezes his eyes shut behind the blindfold.

“The question for you is, would you like it to be yours?”

“For the sake of argument, let's say I did.” And that's it. He can hear the stutter in Mark's voice, it would have been imperceptible to anyone else, but he knows, he knows that voice. It loosens something in his spine.

Christy laughs. “Well, you know, you had him once and tossed him aside. That's not how you treat a boy like this.”

That stutter again, covered up by a layer of chilly impatience with the conversation, with everything. “It was a... a miscalculation. It wouldn't be repeated.”

“Ah. You do want him. Well, you can touch him again.”

A careful hand, stroking his flank. Not delicate like Christy's touch when she teases. Careful, that's right. Eduardo wants to back into it like an animal craving touch. He makes himself keep still, but he knows he's shaking involuntarily. Mark keeps stroking. “Obviously I want him. I'm here, aren't I? You said, what, if I made him come? Assuming that's even physiologically possible at this point.”

There's a laugh, a pause. Christy's hand now, on his other side, just a proprietary pat on the ass. “You are here, true, and I consider that a sign of good faith. And yes, that would be what you'd have to do. But, if you can't manage it, what would you be willing to put up to show you meant it this time?”

Mark laughs this time. Short and cynical. “Wait-- are you asking me for _money_? You're joking.”

Fingernails dig into Eduardo's skin. Not a prick this time, more like a slash. He muffles himself in the pillow in front of him. His throat hurts. She's angry. “You're jumping to some pretty outre conclusions, asshole. No, I'm asking you to put up something small, but meaningful. Call it a bet, if you want to.”

“Don't,” Mark snaps and for a second Eduardo doesn't know what he means, but then the nails in his skin are gone and it's only Mark's hands on his skin. There's a snort, but it's amused, mostly. “Okay, what bet?”

The bed shifts with Christy's weight. Not much, it's an expensive mattress, but he's oversensitive to any motion, any change in the air. She's almost next to him. “It's pretty straightforward,” she says. “He's come at least four times today. Maybe more. But, he's young and strong and you're talented, I'm sure. Just like I said, all you have to do is make him come again, just one more time, and you win, he's yours. Collar and toys, no strings.”

“Except for his strings, obviously.” Mark sits down on the other side of him, hand still steady on his skin. Tracing through the sweat pooled on his lower back. If he could, Eduardo would laugh. What strings? But Mark is still talking, “And if it turns out to be impossible?”

“You pay a forfeit. To me. Minimum of three nights, my rules.” Most likely, she's grinning. “And I keep him until you've satisfied me fully, so it could be longer if I like.”

Mark's hand is shaking, suddenly. There's a thrum-thrum of something against Eduardo's oversensitive skin. “That's not really my kind of thing,” he says. “Sorry.”

“Oh, baby, I think you'll like it but even if you don't, you have to pay to play. And if you don't want to play, if you don't want Eduardo, someone else might. Hmmm...” She bounces a little on the bed, like she's thinking. Eduardo can imagine her pursing her lips. “Tyler Winklevoss might want a turn. He's one of your favorite people, I'll bet.”

There's a tearing breath, vicious and loud and the bed shifts again. Eduardo can feel the air move before there's a grip on his cheek, Mark's hand digging in. Mark's mouth a second later, on his, kissing him, fierce and relentless. His own mouth is sore enough that it almost hurts, but that doesn't matter. Eduardo gasps and parts his lips, eager, open for it.

Christy laughs. “Well, looks like we are playing.”

Mark says something, sharp voiced, but it stops making sense around the time that hand shifts down, stroking over his arm until there's a good steady grip on his hip and then... he almost chokes and squirms away at the touch on his balls, over the thin skin behind it. It's not a light tease this time, it's intentional, it hurts. He can't really move, there's nowhere to move to, but it's too much, it's too...

“He obviously _can't_ ,” Mark hisses and there's something in his voice, something that is not flat. No hands on Eduardo's skin now, just that voice, he can't see, he can't know what the something is. “This is hurting him. I... I see no point in tormenting him for the sake of it.”

Christy's contempt is knife edged. “So, don't. No one is forcing you to be here. Get up and walk away.”

There's quiet, a long moment of it stretching out. Eduardo bites his sore lower lip and then whimpers when it hurts more than he expected. There's a hand on his side again, suddenly, warm and blunt. “I could just pay your forfeit,” Mark says.

Christy sighs audibly. Her heels click against some dull surface. “Mark, come on. You're not even trying.” There's another stretch of silence, just the click, click of her heels. “We're all here voluntarily, dumbass.”

“Oh, fuck you. Give me-- I need--” Eduardo doesn't hear what Mark needs, but a moment later there are hands at his wrists, one after the other. Soothing, careful. Undoing the cuffs and stroking the circulation back into his skin.

He's eased carefully onto his side and he doesn't know why until Mark undoes his blindfold too. They're laying on the mess of expensive linen sheets, stiff with come and lube, staring at each other. Mark's eyes are very blue and his hand is steady when he reaches out to trace over a dried tear track across Eduardo's cheek.

His expression is strangely young in its blankness. “Hey,” he says. “Think you have it in you?”

It's easier to talk somehow, like this, face to face, even though it doesn't magically ease Eduardo's dry throat. He shrugs minutely. “Dunno if I can.”

Mark's stare is searching, focused. “I think you can. How about you prove me right?”

Eduardo's mouth twitches around the corners. “And now I suddenly want to do that?” He did not expect to make Mark blush, not with those words. It should not be in any way charming, he should probably be too fucking tired to be charmed. Or maybe tired enough that he can't defend himself from it.

“God, you really suck at this, Zuckerberg,” Christy says from somewhere behind him. She sounds amazed. “You're not nearly as cool as you think you are.”

That makes Eduardo smile for real, because, maybe he knew that. “I think you want to,” Mark says, ignoring Christy. Eduardo forgot how good he could be at that, hyperfocused on the one thing, all the other things just crashed to the wayside. Eduardo had forgotten what it meant to be the object of that focus.

Mark eases up and rests their foreheads together, like Eduardo's not sticky with dried sweat and worse. Eduardo shrugs. Mark's mouth is warm and close. Kissing him again. He closes his eyes and lets it happen.

“It will hurt. Coming. But you... you would like that,” Mark murmurs to him. Hand in his hair again, petting, soft, careful. “Wouldn't you?”

Eduardo's mouth curves, half smiling into the kiss. He doesn't say _yeah, yeah, yes_. He doesn't want to have to.

Mark is very gentle with him, almost clinically so, and it doesn't matter. The slowest hands on his bruised body, press of a mouth against the head of his soft dick, tongue on his balls. It aches to get hard, makes him whimper and shake his head, clutch his hands around Mark's shoulders.

His mouth opens, panting, gasping with low animal noises that spill out everytime Mark isn't kissing him quiet. It hurts to be hard, on knife's edge. It will be agony to come.

Mark's hand is on his cock and he wants to pull back and push forward and get away and bury himself. Mark's hand is on his cock—one hand, the other circles around the sore, battered skin around his hole, good grip on the base of the plug still inside him.

“Come,” Mark says, and his eyes are cool, expressionless for a long moment. Eduardo meets his gaze head on and watches, watches the indifference crack. “Come on, Wardo, please.” Mark's voice cracks. With one sharp, steady motion, Mark pulls the plug out of him and then pushes it back in. One twice. Fuck.

Eduardo shouldn't be able to, should not be capable, but he does, almost dry, but he does. He screams, hoarse and ruined, and then he can't scream anymore. Annihilation, boneless and colorless, stealing the breath from his lungs.

He loses time. Somewhere in the gap, there is a kiss, familiar mouth, pressed up against his right shoulder. Familiar whisper. “Good luck, sweetie,” Christy tells him. He can't move, can't speak, can only listen.

When he finds himself again, his head is resting on Mark's lap, Mark's hands stroking his hair. Mark's eyes, wide and blue and anything but dispassionate. He smiles and lets his eyes close.


End file.
